As far as the eye can see— Limitless blue nowhere to be found.

Therein are the spoils of sorrow, the fruit of hardship, where wind snaps and prevails. Death whispers a hollow secret and I still shiver

Yes, it’s a famous song— “Unbroken Chain” by the Grateful Dead, a good band name as an aside,

A tide of blood, miniature in compare— But an ocean no less, to the virus in there.

Wanting anything— What a curse. I take the simplest of shelter, revisit proven feeding grounds, do what my organs demand.

Nine times out of ten, it’s a demon you’re seeing, not an angel. They have all kinds of disguises, I know-I know,

Mowing with the sickle I stop abruptly and remember crawling out the window to smoke on the roof

He wouldn’t budge to show me what’s a hard heart, my own heart was closed if it was closed to him. Maharajii said,

I have this sensation when remembering the poignant noteworthy moments, Lovers, the Dead, crimes—

It’s good here decapitate me here this moment perfect astounding unknowing faith in God not necessary

Mojave Desert crushed cars stacked six, seven, ten tall. From the junkyard juts a billboard:

A whole lifetime can go by simple and average, without change, misunderstood, or understood all too well—

Praise those who sit and wait for nothing. Who sit still and know they are owed nothing. On the mat each inhalation